


Crime in the City

by ShipArmada (SarahSelene)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Crime, Fighting, M/M, Violence, tagged for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11144589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahSelene/pseuds/ShipArmada
Summary: Chirrut is woken up by the Force and manages to find trouble.





	Crime in the City

The Holy City had never been crime free. Even before the Empire set roots there had been thieves and mercenaries who wandered the streets like one of the many pilgrims. Chirrut was no stranger to it, a darkness that was a balance to the city. That balance was off kilter now though, a darkness that seeped into every alley way and street corner, that oozed and blended in with the rest of the darkness. That was what disturbed Chirrut the most. Not that there was darkness, but how much of it there was. He could not remember the last time he had been to a place that was balanced in the Force. It was before the occupation, surely, but even then, there had been ripples that everyone in the Temple had felt. Ripples that there would be an imbalance. They had still been woefully unprepared.

Sometimes while sleeping, he could feel the Force, in pain and trying to find homeostasis again. It felt like _screaming_.

Chirrut pushes the thoughts to the back of his head, feeling the anxiety creep up the back of his neck. He had other things to focus on.

He had woken in the middle of the night and slipped out of the room to let Baze continue sleeping. Chirrut felt compelled to go _somewhere_ but where that place was eluded him. He was a Guardian of the Whills and where the Force led him he would go. Even if that meant winding through the twisted streets in the middle of the night, without back up, and only his staff as a weapon. Chirrut was kind of regretting that last part. Baze had blasters he could have grabbed, or he could have picked up his light bow, but he had not thought of those things before he was already out the door. Chirrut was glad Baze was not there, he would have called him a fool.

Chirrut smiled. He would have called him a fool anyway, going out at night. Chirrut would have responded by telling Baze that he did not need the light to see his way around, so what did it matter what time it was when he left their house? Baze would come up with some dry reply, and Chirrut would tell him that everything was as the Force willed it. Chirrut continued imagining the banter in his head, finding some comfort in it, changing directions when he felt like it.

Then he sensed her, a small child. He heard her first, then stretched out his senses to find her. A small girl, crying and tucked up between two houses. He hurried his footsteps to get to her, stopping before he got too close. “Is everything alright, child?” he called out, putting on a warm smile and relaxing his posture. No reason to scare her.

He listened as her voice hiccupped, and then a shaky voice said, “I’m hungry.”

Chirrut’s heart broke at the words, but he tried his best to keep it from his face. She was not alone, many in NiJedha were hungry, including himself. But this child, so young and innocent, should not know what it felt like to be so hungry. It was something she would have been protected from before the occupation. “Where are you parents?” Chirrut asked, sliding a bit closer to her and then carefully kneeling, holding out his hand to her.

“They’re gone,” she answered him. It was another thing a small child should not have to know, the loss of one’s parents. He leaned his staff into his shoulder, and then reached out with his other hand to cover hers. She was cold to the touch. He needed to get her inside, somewhere warm.

“What is your name?” Chirrut asked. He wanted the girl to feel comfortable, and that would be difficult if he did not know her name.

“B’asia,” said the little voice, and her hand tightened in his.

“I am Chirrut îmwe. I know a place we can go,” Chirrut said gently. He did not want to force her to move, did not want to seem predatory. The girl had been through enough pain. “It is not far from here, they’ll have food, and blankets. There are other children to play with.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Would you like to go there with me?” He was met with silence, and then Chirrut’s smile widened. “If you are nodding or shaking your head, I’m afraid I cannot tell.”

“Sorry,” the girl answered, and Chirrut squeezed her hand a second time in forgiveness. “I… yes.”

“Good,” Chirrut said, raising and keeping one of her hands in his own. He was trying to figure out where Killi and Kaya were from there, about to ask the girl if she knew the name of the street they were on, when he heard footsteps. Heavy, booted footsteps, from six… no seven sentients, heading their way.

“Well well well,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind Chirrut. It hissed and creaked, like a reptile sliding over a broken tree. “What do we have here? Some rich fool wandering where he should not be?”

“B’asia,” Chirrut said to the girl, giving her hand a squeeze before he released it, “stay here, alright? I will deal with them.” He gave her a smile before he turned to greet their visitors. “Not rich,” Chirrut said, raising his voice so that it could be heard along the entire street. “Just a poor blind man trying to help a child. Let us pass in peace.”

He turned his staff when he felt something move towards him, and the wood hit something metallic. He suspected the butt of a blaster. “You don’t seem to be that poor, or blind for that matter,” the same hissing cracking voice. They must have been the leader. “Hand us whatever credits you have, and you can leave in peace.”

“I do not have any credits to give,” Chirrut answered. It was the truth. He had collected several credits and knots that morning, more than usual, but he had given them all away before dinner. Baze had griped about that, but he did not seem surprised. “Let us pass in peace. The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force.”

“Oh, you’re one of those religious types, huh?” He could not be sure, but he certainly felt as if the person’s eyes were looking him over. “Maybe that staff has some Kyber in it… that’s worth something nowadays.”

Chirrut felt his grin form despite himself. He was not sure, but he liked to imagine that it was intimidating. “I promise you that trying to rob me would be a terrible mistake.”

There was no more time for words after that. He heard B’asia scream before he heard the blaster fire, and he leaned out of the way, hearing it whistle by his ear before exploding into the wall behind him. He moved quickly to the left. It was not strategically sound, but B’asia was less likely to get hit by a stray blaster fire if she was not directly behind him. He moved to the closest thug and took out the man’s legs and slamming his staff into the head and slamming the other end into the stomach of another thug.

After that the battle is a blur. Chirrut sinks into the rhythm of battle, takes down four, five, six of them. One of them got a lucky punch in, and he can feel blood sliding down his cheek and along his jaw, can taste copper in his mouth, and when he grins before taking down the fourth thug he knows it’s intimidating.

He takes down the seventh with a smack of his staff that made a wet crunching sound. Chirrut takes a deep breath and stands straight, when he feels the muzzle of a blaster press against the back of his head. “Don’t move.” The hissing voice sounds thick now. He must have hit them in the jaw and he takes some pleasure in that. He is annoyed that he did not hit them hard enough. “Drop the staff.”

Chirrut considers his options, weighs them in his mind. Through the thoughts he feels something, a familiar presence on the edge of his perception, and he grins again. “Of course,” he said, keeping his voice calm. He releases the staff from his hand, hearing it hit the sand.

“Put your hands over your head!” The hissing voice snaps, and Chirrut raised his hands over his head, touching them just over his head. A sign of submissiveness and defeat. “On your knees!”

“Are you always so pushy?” Chirrut asks before he sinks down to his knees in front of the thug. “Or do you always flirt like this?”

A growl escapes the thug behind him and Chirrut grins more despite himself. “You are an insolent arrogant fool who should have just handed over his staff.”

“No one calls him a fool except for me,” comes the deep rumbling voice that Chirrut held close to his heart. He doesn’t flinch when he hears Baze’s blaster fire, but he does let out a yell when the thug’s body lands on his legs.

“You couldn’t have come any sooner?” Chirrut chides, reaching down to pick up his staff, resting his hands on the top of it.

“I would have been able to _be here_ if I knew you were leaving!” Baze’s voice was hot and rough. Angry, and perhaps a little worried, Chirrut guessed, and then suddenly there are two rough calloused hands resting on his face, a thumb sliding over the blood streak on his face. A lot worried, then. “Where are you hurt?”

Chirrut let out a huff. Baze worried too much, but Chirrut would not change that for anything. “One of the thugs got a lucky hit. I am fine.” He made a half-hearted attempt to push Baze’s hand away. He did not want to admit that he wanted it, the warm affectionate touches that used to come freely until Baze built a cage around his heart. “There’s a girl,” Chirrut says, trying to take the attention off him. “A little girl, she was hiding.”

“She’s curled up behind a box,” Baze answers easily, and his hand is gone. Chirrut accepts the pain in his heart and stores it away in another part of his mind.

“B’asia,” Chirrut calls, and he holds out his hand. There is a moment’s pause, but then there are footsteps in the sand and a small hand slid into his. “Are you safe?” he asks her, and rests his staff against himself and reaching down to touch her head. His hands find horns – Montrals – and he touches them gently before resting on her head and pulling his hand away.

“Yes,” she answered in a small voice.

“Baze,” Chirrut said and he turned towards his husband, sliding his staff back into his hand. “I am going to take B’asia to Killi and Kaya’s, would you care to join us?”

Chirrut’s lips quirk up into a smirk when he hears Baze swear under his breath, a smirk that morphs into a warm smile when Baze finally says, “Of course, Chirrut, lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at ShipArmada whenever you want!


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